Secret Santa Stout: Fermentation, stage 2

Here's what I don't think I understand about sanitization. Because I had never used my carboy before, I gave it a good overnight soaking in a bleach solution, and stuck my siphon tube in there for good measure. Of course, it wasn't full all the way to the top, and I only realized afterward that I probably should have done that. A good couple of inches of the glass were sitting there, unsanitized, and only made contact with the bleach solution with a little swirling and brushing. Now, I understand that the point of sanitizing your equipment is to reduce the number of potential contaminants to an insignificant level, and that it will never be 100%, but it seems to me like even reaching 90% is a lofty goal for the homebrewer.

No matter. Last time I was grabbing unsanitized equipment and plunging it straight into the wort, and everything came out all right.

At any rate, I sanitized my carboy, my stopper, my siphon hose, and my auto-siphon, and prepared to rack my beer. At this point I added the boubon-soaked oak chips and two vanilla beans, cut in half lengthwise. I had planned to put all of these things in a muslin bag so I wouldn't have to worry about filtering them out, but there was no way we could have fit it through the carboy's narrow opening. Instead, I added the wood chips and the beans loose. I am not too worried about the filtering process. My siphon has a small filter that wouldn't be able to hack very small particles, but won't have a problem with wood chips.

Rather than lug my primary upstairs, rack it in the kitchen, and then lug my secondary back downstairs, I decided to do it all in the basement. I brought in a small table and set my bucket on it. What's good about the bucket is how tightly it seals; what's bad about the bucket is how hard it is to unseal. Somehow, I ended up cracking the lid when I pulled it off. I'll need a new one for my next brew.

The brew looked as expected inside the bucket. There was a thick ring of cocoa-like krausen around the perimeter of the bucket a few inches about the surface of the liquid, but the fermenting beer itself looked calm, though cloudy. It smelled terrific -- sweet and coffee-like. It looked good, too, a glossy black color.

We siphoned it into the carboy without incident. There was a tiny bit of splashing at the end, when it ran dry inside the primary, but otherwise the process was quiet. A half-inch-thick layer of caramel-colored yeast sediment remained at the bottom of the bucket. That's always fun to clean out.

I also took a hydrometer reading, and found that the fermentation is mostly done. The starting gravity was 1.080, and at this stage measured 1.028. With a target gravity of 1.020-1.026, it was nearly there. But it needed time not only to ferment, but to steep in the wood and vanilla. I didn't want to oak it for too long -- I've read that can backfire -- so as soon as I got consistent hydrometer readings I planned to bottle it

More important, though, it tasted great! I was surprised. My 8-Bit Ale has tasted decent at the same point in the process, but this was delicious: already complex, roasty and malty, with a strongly alcoholic tang. I could only imagine what it would taste like with proper time to condition, let alone the new flavors I'd be introducing.

With a little over a month to go until Christmas, I was feeling good about the future of Secret Santa Stout.

Secret Santa Stout: Fermentation, stage 1

For my first homebrew, I did a single-stage fermentation. I am doing a two-stage fermentation this time, for a couple of reasons. One is that the recipe demands it: the second stage involves steeping some more ingredients in the beer. Another is that I'd like to give this brew a little more time to ferment, and I'd like to get it away from the yeast cake for that. Lastly, I have a whole carboy I've never used. Isn't that reason enough?

The first stage was expected to take 3-5 days, until the most vigorous fermentation had subsided and the krausen had fallen to the bottom of the bucket. After 24 hours, all was going well. The beer was bubbling away, belching a bubble through the fermentation lock every few seconds.

After 48 hours, this had happened:

Apparently I had a blow-out -- fortunately, a minor one.

Asking around on the internet, I found that this isn't a rare occurrence for a stout, because there are so many sugars for the yeasts to feast on. And it wasn't disastrous by any means, although I worried what it had done to the efficacy of the airlock. I had no choice but to rinse, sanitize, and hastily re-attach the lock. It was still bubbling away, so I hoped for the best. I was surprised that such a large bucket didn't have enough headroom for this beer, but it's a lesson learned. Next time I will use a blow-off tube.

The best part about this episode was realizing how much less stressed out I am this time around. Had this happened with my first batch, I would have sworn, stomped around the room, and possibly dumped it. This time, I just shrugged and figured I would roll with it. The more that I read about homebrewing, the more I get the impression that things mostly go right, even when they don't. You read a lot of experienced homebrewers who talk about the importance of doing everything right, and freely admit all the times they've done things wrong and lived to tell the tale.

Was the blow-out suboptimal? Sure. Was it a disaster? I'm betting not. It certainly wouldn't stop me from moving onto the second stage of fermentation.

Rest stop

One of the hardest lessons to learn about homebrewing has been how much time you spend doing nothing at all. It's strange, because doing nothing is usually where I shine. After the initial boiling, cooling, and yeast-pitching, all I had to do was kick back for about a week and let those yeasts do their work.

And it was agonizing.

I'd put so much mental and physical preparation into the process, and now I found myself twiddling my thumbs. I felt like I should be doing more. So I padded into the basement several times a day, where I would cross my arms and frown at the fermenter like a concerned parent. "You doing okay in there, little guy? Everything all right?"

After about four days the vigorous bubbling in the fermentation lock had subsided. As that was my only visible sign that anything was happening inside the bucket, I found this distressing. Probably, it was a good thing: when the yeasts had run out of fermentable sugars to consume, they'd settle back at the bottom of the bucket, and my beer would be ready for bottling.

At seven days, I could wait no more. I sanitized my hydrometer and my beaker and prepared to take a sample. Although I struggled a bit with the lid, on account of being a weak-ass man, I was encouraged when the unmistakable smell of beer hit my nostrils. Not even skunked, half-empty-Bud-Lite-can-the-morning-after-a-party beer. Real, fresh beer!

It was hard to tell in the dim basement light, but when I brought my sample back upstairs I found that it looked like beer, too -- a dark, golden honey color. A healthy amount of sediment was still suspended in it, but overall I was encouraged.

The hydrometer reading was encouraging, too. The beer's specific gravity was registering at 1.016, without needing to correct for temperature. That was close to the target! The recipe called for a final gravity of 1.008-1.012. Considering that my initial sample had read much higher than what the the recipe called for, this seemed like a good sign. But it also seemed like I wouldn't lose anything by waiting a day and taking another measurement.

Back into the dark, dry basement it went. I would have to wait another day -- but not before tasting the little bit I'd measured.

Looked like beer, smelled like beer, and tasted like beer, too! It wasn't carbonated, which made for a strange mouthfeel, and it did seem a little tart on the finish, but overall I was optimistic. Or, let's say, "hoptimistic."

On second thought, let's not say that.

It's alive!

I couldn't have been more disheartened by the time I had sealed my fermentation bucket. It seemed like everything had gone wrong. Not only were my temperature and my specific gravity incorrect, but I had also freaked out and used a bunch of unsanitized equipment for reasons I can't even remember at this point. (I did at least run the new stuff under hot water for awhile, so, you know, I'm sure it's fine. I'm sorry, Charlie.)

Anything you read about homebrewing will casually tell you to store your fermenting beer in a dark place at 65-70 degrees. As though there aren't any cheap bastards out there who would shiver all day and night under three layers of blankets rather than turn up the heat and pay a slightly higher oil bill. Not that I know anybody like that.

At any rate, room temperature in my home during the winter months is lower than the recommended temperature for fermenting ale. It's about 60 degrees during the day. So I am probably the only homebrewer in history who has fermented his ale in the basement, because it is warmer than the rest of his house. I'm keeping it in the unfinished side of the basement, near the furnace, which is the warmest and driest part of the house right now -- not to mention the darkest.

After the calamity that had befallen the yeast-pitching portion of the brewing process, I was expecting the worst. I checked on my fermentation bucket a few hours after leaving it in the basement and thought I saw some condensation on the inside of the fermentation lock, but didn't know what to make of it. Probably, I thought, the whole thing is a failure.

The next day, first thing I went downstairs to see if anything was happening. I turned on the light and thought I saw something moving in the lock. I crouched and stared at it. Come on. Show me something.

The bucket burped.

Maybe that's not a correct description of what was happening, but it's what it looked like. The fermentation lock is a small plastic container half-filled with water. As I watched it, it continually belched out bubbles, sometimes violently. Those little yeasts were doing their job -- which, as I understand it, is to eat sugar and crap alcohol. This goop might yet turn into beer!

Of course, I still have to bottle it. And nothing so far has scared me as much as that.